


Book Two: The Viscount

by HorizonTheTransient



Category: The Gods Are Bastards - D. D. Webb
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorizonTheTransient/pseuds/HorizonTheTransient
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

"It's just... I don't know," Ephanie said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... It felt like the Sisterhood didn't care about what I  _ actually _ wanted or needed, sometimes. They'd give me what they  _ thought _ I wanted or needed, and if the reality was different, then  _ I _ was the problem."

Ephanie Avelea was tall and beautiful, her flame-red hair curling in just the right ways, her pale skin freckled in just the right places, and her build somehow both athletic and curvaceous. She was, by Vicky's understanding, some flavor of Stalweiss; the terminology would likely continue to confuse her for a while. She was dressed in a traditional Shaathist style, her clothes modest and made of leather, with bits of fur here and there. Unbeknownst to Vicky, who had never once seen an elf who wasn't trying to integrate into Imperial society, the style happened to resemble traditional Elfish attire, if only because there were only so many ways to turn leather into simple, sturdy clothing.

"I'm sorry," Vicky said. "I've... noticed something like that, myself. People try to fight it, here and there, but institutionally... well, the Silver Legions has regulations for taking a piss. It's more than a little hidebound, and if you ask me, a little  _ too _ hidebound for its own good."

Vicky herself resembled nothing so much as a clone of Ephanie with the colors washed out; nobody had ever bothered to check, but if a geneticist  _ did _ check and tell her she was an albino, she'd be more upset than surprised. Her hair was straight by nature, but aside from that, they could have been sisters. However, she had quite the distinguishing mark in the form of an eyepatch over her left eye, and a nasty scar across the left side of her head that trailed off and disappeared under the eyepatch. She was dressed in the uniform of the Sisters of Avei, with a white robe, a silver eagle sigil pinned to her shoulder(and also serving to hold the robe closed at the top), standard-issue boots, and a standard-issue Silver Legionnaire leaf-bladed shortsword belted over her waist.

"Yeah," Ephanie said glumly. "And... I just don't know what to  _ do _ . I know I want out, but... I don't know. All I know is being a good little Shaathist housewife, and being a Silver Legionnaire, and..." She sighed. "I don't know."

The central Temple of Avei in Tiraas was big. When you were one of the three most powerful gods around, and the most assertive of those three, your mortal representatives tended to get their way. And so, despite Tiraas being built atop an island in the middle of a river, the Temple of Avei was large enough to host an entire Silver Legion, and still have room leftover for a number of priestesses, with private rooms for conducting counseling sessions such as this one.

"May I make a... somewhat unorthodox suggestion?" Vicky asked.

"Go ahead," Ephanie said.

"I'm fairly close with a Priest of Omnu who lives out on the frontier, in a town called Big Whiskey. It's in Lower Stalwar Province, right up in the northwest corner," Vicky said. "His name is Teller Corcoran; he's former military, himself, and knows all about getting away from that to start a new life. He's not the  _ only _ option,  _ but _ , if you think you'd like to get out of Tiraas for a while, and don't mind being away from the city, then I think he's a good place to start."

"Hrm..." Ephanie tapped her chin. "I don't know, I don't want to be a burden..."

"Oh, please, he's a Priest of Omnu," Vicky said. "Taking people in and helping them out is what he does, and I have it on good authority that he enjoys his work. Just don't let him hear you call yourself a burden- he's got strong opinions on the subject, and you  _ will _ hear them if he decides you need to."

Ephanie snorted, grinning a little. "Sounds charming."

"He is, he really is, I promise," Vicky said. "It's just, well... he gets worked up about this sort of thing. He can't walk past an animal shelter without adopting a three-legged cat."

"How do you two know each other, anyhow?" Ephanie asked.

"Well, we're dating," Vicky said. "We parted paths briefly to pursue the priesthood, but once I'm done here in Tiraas, I'll get to go and rejoin him out on the frontier. Pursue our faiths together, raise some cats... And maybe have a threesome or two with an elf. I can dream."

"Apparently," Ephanie said. "Well... Hrm...  _ Hrm... _ You know, Sister Victoria, it occurs to me that I  _ would _ in fact like to get out of Tiraas for a while.  _ But _ , since I've probably got a bunch of Shaathists looking for me right this second, why, I just don't feel  _ safe _ going to the Rail station all on my lonesome." She clasped her hands before her and tilted her head both forward and to the side, looking at Vicky through her eyelashes. "Why, would you mind escorting me to the Frontier  _ yourself _ ? I would be  _ ever _ so grateful if you did."

"You are a ridiculous woman, and Teller's going to love you," Vicky said, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. "Alright, alright, you win. I'll write something up for my superiors, and we  _ should _ be good to go before the day is out."

"Are you new to the Sisterhood?" Ephanie asked.

"What, is it that obvious?" Vicky had grabbed her notepad and a pencil, and was already beginning to write.

"You're young. Anyway, I  _ ask _ because, not to beat that particular drum  _ too _ much, but I  _ was _ a Legions officer for a while. If you need to write a report that your commanding officer will find  _ persuasive _ ..."

"You make a compelling point," Vicky said, flipping the notepad to the next page and handing it to Ephanie, along with the pencil.

* * *

The Collegium of Salyrene had exactly one central academy in every Imperial province, no exceptions. It had a number of research stations as well, with no hard limit on how many in a province, along with other facilities, but every province got one and only one central academy, where apprentices were trained and administration was performed. In Lower Stalwar Province, the central academy was located in the foothills of the Stalrange, about five miles from the provincial capital of Veilgrad as the crow flies.

"What do you  _ mean _ , wood shortage?" Amy asked. Her particular project, at the moment, was a rather more practical one; she'd "developed"(read: remembered from Old Earth) a new system of modular, re-usable structural timbers called Grid Beam. It had proven  _ very _ popular among the rest of the Salyrites, given the ease with which any scholar could quickly assemble reasonably sturdy and unreasonably specialized equipment frames with it. The beams themselves were quite easy to develop and produce; enchanting things to spin on command was one of the simplest things to do with arcane magic, and every Salyrite apprentice learned that much rather early on. Currently, she was developing more esoteric fittings for the Grid Beam... or at least, she  _ had _ been, before the news of a wood shortage had reached her.

"Yep," Lisa said, holding the written notice in her hand. "Headmaster Rincewind says he's sorry, but your project's gonna have to go on hold until the problem's resolved. Apparently the lumberjacks are on strike. Oh, also, on the subject of personal projects, I've just finished  _ mine _ , and I've got good news and bad news."

Lisa was of slightly above average height, standing at about five foot eight, and had shoulder-length blonde hair that was, at the moment, tied back in a ponytail. Across the bridge of her nose was a band of tan-gold freckles, and above those were a pair of striking, glass-green eyes. She was slender and lithe, built not entirely unlike some manner of small cat, or maybe a fox.

"Your project... you mean the compass?" Amy asked. "The one that points to whatever you currently want?"

Amy, on the other hand, was short as hell and soft all over, being built rather more like a teddy bear. She was markedly more tan than Lisa was, but not so much that anyone would mistake her for anything other than Stalweiss. Her hair was brown and  _ very _ curly, and was, at the moment, tied back in a very messy braid.

The both of them, being Salyrite apprentices, were wearing the traditional brown robes of their station, with mass-produced brass stars-and-moon sigils of Salyrene pinned to their shoulders. Over their robes were belts festooned with pouches, containing all manner of reagents, spell components, and other assorted gewgaws.

"Yeah, that one. The one you helped me do a bunch of woodcarving and engraving for," Lisa said, nodding. She reached into one of her pouches that had been her previous project, and was now a Bag of Holding, and produced from within a small, hand-carved trinket of wood and twine. It was composed of two major parts- a wooden circle that had been constructed from several straight pieces that had been glued and pinned together into a hexagon before being carved smooth, and a wooden arrow or pointer that floated within the inner circumference of the circle, supported by the strings.

The arrow pointed unerringly towards Amy.

"The bad news is, it doesn't work the way I wanted it to," Lisa said, staring at the arrow. "Good news is, this is  _ very _ cute and gay, and I reckon this might cheer you up."

"Aw, babe. C'mere."

* * *

"It  _ can't _ be interference from holy magic," Teller said, frowning. "I'm not channeling any, and I made  _ very _ sure to not consecrate anywhere I live or work, since Miss Jones is a demonblood. And it can't be interference from  _ arcane _ magic, either, since I've literally never cast an arcane spell or enchanted something in my life."

"These things take time, Teller," Rainwood said.

The two of them were in a small room near the center of Teller's house, with none of the inaccurately named "fairy lamps," which were made with arcane magic and interfered with fairy magic, in evidence. Instead, for light, Teller had purchased a brass barn lantern, and Rainwood had conjured a half-dozen tiny light elementals to stuff inside the glass enclosure.

"Not  _ that _ much time," he said, gently setting his umbrella aside and standing up. The first time he'd let go of the umbrella, it'd felt like getting kicked in the head by a steel-shod mule. By now, though, he'd grown used to the sudden transition from having all that power and all those senses at his fingertips, and  _ not _ . "Lisa and Amy write to me every week from the Collegium, and they've learned... well, maybe not a  _ lot _ of fae magic, but enough that Lisa can make a reasonably successful attempt at creating her own oracular talisman."

"She's made  _ what _ now?" Rainwood asked.

"In her last letter, she said she was working on a wooden compass that points towards her heart's desire," Teller said. "And that she was using fae magic to do it."

"Betcha five doubloons it'll just point to her girlfriend," Prin said. She was off to the side, sitting on a simple wooden chair she'd dragged into the room, reading a magazine. When Teller had gone off to Calderaas to find Rainwood, Prin had declared that she'd had enough of Last Rock, and was coming with him, and Teller hadn't found it in himself to tell her no. As it was, Prin had turned out to be fairly useful to have around; Teller ran, among other ventures, a tailoring shop, and Prin, being both a woman and an enchanter, was good for measuring their female clients who didn't much care for Teller doing the measuring, along with enchanting a few clothes here and there.

"No bet," Rainwood said. "Still, that's damned impressive. You four have only been here... what, three months? Apparently your sister's a real prodigy. Don't beat yourself up for not matching up, Teller. Especially considering all the  _ other _ demands on your time. Tailoring clothes, running a factory..."

"And being one of the town's only three clerics," Teller said. "I swear, not a week goes by some idiot doesn't stumble outta the Golden Sea, bleeding and shitting themselves to death."

A bell rang, and Teller sighed.

"That's probably  _ one _ of them. Gods preserve us..."

He left the room, and made his way to the front door, working his face into the calm, benificent smile of the friendly neighborhood priest before opening it.

"Hey hon," Vicky said, standing on the front doorstep. "I got a houseguest for you."

Beside her, Ephanie shyly smiled and waved.


	2. Chapter 2

Watching Teller make tea was an odd experience. Where most people would've put the kettle on the stove, Teller instead grabbed a red umbrella in his off hand, and then conjured a flame in midair, holding the kettle above the flame in his bare right hand, for a moment. It took very little time to get the water up to his preferred temperature, maybe ten or fifteen seconds, and then after that he poured it straight into the teapot.

It was flashy, but undeniably effective, and faster than the stove.

"So, what brings you two to my humble abode?" Teller asked, bringing a tray containing the teapot, a stack of mugs, and a small covered bowl with a spoon sticking out of it that probably contained honey, but might instead contain sugar, over to the table. He was dressed in the simple work clothes of the frontier, in a sturdy red button-down shirt tucked into a pair of bluejeans held up by a thick leather belt with a polished brass Omnist sunburst as a buckleplate.

"I'm..." Ephanie paused, frowning and considering her words. "Well, I'm running from the Huntsmen of Shaath."

"Ah, I see," Teller said, nodding. He sat down at the table, between Vicky and Principia, with Ephanie across from him. "Well, thankfully, we don't have none a' them meatheads out here on the prairie. There _is_ a tiny little lodge up in Parson's Peak you mighta passed by, but that's owned and operated by the Ranger's Guild, who do _not_ get along very well with the Huntsmen of Shaath."

"The Ranger's Guild?" Vicky asked.

"They're somewhat of an obscure group," Teller said. "I only really know about 'em cause of Rainwood, and one of 'em payin' me a visit a month back. Back durin' the Age of Adventure, there was the Hero's Guild, and all them sub-guilds of the different classes of adventurers. Wizard's Guild, Fighter's Guild, Rogue's Guild- and boy howdy was the _Thieves'_ Guild _not_ happy about _them_ \- and, among _many_ others, the Ranger's Guild. Well, the Ranger's Guild is the only one that survives to this day, partly cause Rangers are inherently self-reliant and decentralized, and partly because human civilization has always needed gamekeepers, wardens, and general all-round _rangers_ , and _also_ , nobody has _ever_ truly _liked_ the Huntsmen of Shaath. Dependin' on _why_ you're runnin' from the Huntsmen, the Ranger's Guild might be a place worth checkin' out."

"I've never heard of the Ranger's Guild..." Ephanie muttered. "I _have_ heard of a splinter sect called the Shadow Hunters, though."

"That's a common misconception," Rainwood said, seating himself at the table between Ephanie and Prin. "The Huntsmen hate the Rangers more than most people hate the Huntsmen, so they tried to stick the Rangers with an insulting name. That failed, because you have to explain _why_ 'Shadow Hunters' is supposed to be insulting, and now the Rangers have a cool nickname. As for them being a splinter sect, that's _also_ a common misconception, being as the most visible difference between Rangers and Huntsmen is that some Rangers are women."

"That, and Rangers won't get mad at you for having the audacity to have a pet dog," Teller said. "Anyhow, listen to us ramble. Tea's ready. You want honey in yours?" Teller carefully poured her a cup.

"Black is fine," Ephanie said, shaking her head and accepting the mug from Teller. "So- Oh!" Ephanie looked down at the black cat rubbing itself against her leg. "I didn't know you had cats."

"That one's Jaspers," Teller said, nodding. "The big one that looks kinda pink in the right light is Roxy. Jaspers is a real sweetheart, he loves everyone. Hope you ain't allergic or nothin'."

"No, no, I'm fine, just... surprised," Ephanie said, as Jaspers jumped into her lap. "Anyhow, Sister Victoria here... actually, could you say it?"

"I brought her here because she needs somewhere to stay that isn't in Tiraas," Vicky said. "And you've got a _well_ -earned reputation for being the perfect candidate for this."

"Mm. Well, I suppose you've got a point," Teller said. "Well, Ephanie, welcome to your new home for as long as you decide to stay. What's mine is yours. I've got a few spare rooms I keep for _exactly_ this purpose; I'll go dust one out, make sure it's fit for company."

"I've got that," Prin said, standing up. " _You_ have to go be at a meeting right about now."

"Hell's bells, you're right," Teller said, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. It was an oddity to Ephanie; ordinarily, clocks were constructed of metal gears and kept inside wood-and-glass casings to protect from damage and dust. The one on the wall, however, seemed to have been made from wood, and all the gearing was exposed. Keeping it clean must've been a real hassle, but, she had to admit, it _was_ rather pretty and hypnotic to look at. "Well, that shouldn't take too long. I'll be back in... probably a half hour. Terribly sorry to leave you hanging like this; help yourself to anything you need." He stood up, stretching a bit, and headed for the door. "Oh! Before I forget..." He leaned back, and kissed Vicky. "Love you." Finally, he left.

* * *

"Alright, Domino, talk to me," Teller said, the calm, beneficent preacher's mask gone. "What've you found?"

"Just to refresh everyone's memory, last week's meeting, Billie mentioned that some numbers weren't quite adding up," Domino said. He was a tall, slender young man with the tawny brown Tiraan complexion, the attendant black hair and sharp features, and a penchant for wearing trenchcoats whenever he thought he could get away with it. Were his skin a shade darker, he'd pass for a lightly assimilated or modernized Punaji, who'd traded the greatcoat for a trenchcoat and the wide-brimmed tricorne for a fedora cocked at rakish angle.

He was Thieves' Guild through and through, and combined with Prin, he made up the backbone of Teller's surprisingly extensive information network.

"More specifically," Domino continued, "our grain inputs weren't matching up with our flour and cake mix outputs. By just little enough that nobody'd notice just by looking at the grain barrels, but by enough that it was starting to become a _problem_ in big enough quantities, and it was steadily getting worse and worse. So, I did some digging, and it turns out that _no_ , we do _not_ have factory workers stealing grain. They don't fucking _need_ to in the first place, they get paid plenty. No, you wanna know where that deficit is happening?"

"Keep going," Billie said, folding her arms. She was local frontier stock, with blonde hair, pale skin, and a sturdy build. She was a follower of Verniselle, Goddess of Money, and had been an apprentice banker before Teller rolled into town and advertised his need for an accountant.

"Our suppliers are _ripping us off_ ," Domino said.

"Alright, so... what now?" Teller asked. "You need me to come with you to lean on them?"

"Well, no," Domino said. "See, I went to pay one a little visit, and won't you just _guess_ what I found out."

"Domino, I know you think you're the scrappy hero of some dime novel, but here in the _real_ world, we don't have time for your shit," Billie said. "I am a grown woman with a job and a family, and my time is precious. If you insist on wasting this much of it, I'm going to have to start charging."

"Spoilsport," Domino muttered. "Well, all those farmers got bought by one Vesper Greaves."

"Fucking _who?_ " Billie asked.

"Lord Vesper Greaves, head of House Greaves," Domino said. "Son of Silas Greaves, a frontier adventurer who struck it rich enough to start his own Noble House, and now that Old Man Silas is dead, his son's starting to... expand his House's influence, so to speak. Buying out every farmer 'round these parts."

"Aw, hell," Teller muttered. "Lemme guess, he's gonna start offering to buy _us_ out pretty soon, too, and this whole business with the grain shipments being short is to pressure us into giving in."

"That's my guess, too," Domino said, nodding. "Course, can't imagine how he got all those farmers to sell to him, too. Sure, it's a hell of a payday _now_ , but all that money's coming outta every last penny they make for the rest of their lives, and _then_ some. And farmers damn well _know_ that."

"Sounds to me like there might've been some foul play," Billie said.

"Some jumped-up lordling abusing his power to take away people's livelihoods," Domino said, nodding. "Sounds to me _exactly_ like the sorta thing we've got the Thieves' Guild for."

"Let's not go borrowing trouble," Teller said. "I'll talk to him like a civilized person first, see if we can reach an accord. Where's this fool live, anyhow?"

"Big town about thirty miles southeast of here, big enough to have a rail station that ain't just there to connect to the edges of the frontier," Domino said. "Town's called Boot Hill. Might wanna talk to him soon; we're still making money hand over fist, but at the rate the grain shipments have been shrinking, we're gonna start _losing_ money in about two months."

"And if he says _no_ ..." Billie trailed off. "Well. We can build a second factory out in Mathena. There's _plenty_ of grain farmers out in Mathena, and the money flows like water over there. Plus, it's more settled down than pretty much anywhere else on the Frontier."

"Well, I mean... that's _one_ way of handling it," Domino said. "Me, I think the solution is talking to the Underboss up in Veilgrad, getting some muscle, and maybe stepping on Boot Boy's neck."

"Fucking Eserites..."

"Hey, Lord Greaves is a problem for _everyone_ , not just us three," Domino said. "It's _starting_ with farmers."

"And any highborn dipshit smart enough to understand the importance of food is trouble," Teller concluded. "Domino's right, this goes beyond business. We've got a _moral_ obligation to figure out what the hell Greaves is up to, cause chances are, it's no good. Alright, well. Domino, do some more digging. Find out what else Greaves has been doing. And Billie... maybe do some math on how much it'd cost to build another factory out in Mathena. I like it here in Big Whiskey, but that's conditional on nothing interesting happening here."

"And what're _you_ going to be doing?" Billie asked.

"I'm gonna write a letter to Lord Greaves, inviting him out here for a chat and a cup of tea, and see what I can find out _that_ way. But, that will have to wait for tomorrow." Teller grinned. "My girlfriend dropped in for a surprise visit just now."

"Wait, I thought your girlfriend was that elf chickie," Domino said.

"No, Prin just lives in my house and eats my food," Teller said. "I'm an Omnist, so I'm not allowed to throw her out, and I can't figure out how to get her to leave."

* * *

"I'm back," Teller announced as he walked in. He then spun in a circle as Vicky tried and failed to tackle him, holding onto her firmly as he swung her around, finally setting her on her feet after two full rotations. "I missed you too, love."

"I've gotta leave tomorrow," Vicky said quietly. "High Commander Rouvad wants me in Veilgrad for something. But for now..."

"Ah, I see," Teller said, nodding solemnly, before hoisting Vicky up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain, heading for the back of the house. "Ladies and Rainwood, I'll see you tomorrow morning. I'd apologize for the noise, but priests aren't supposed to lie, and I am not actually sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

"Amy, the lumberjack camp is thirty miles away."

"I know."

"That's not walking distance, Amy. That's about an hour away  _ if _ we had a car, which we  _ don't _ ."

"And that's where you're wrong. Let me do the talking here."

Amy stopped in front of a door to someone's room, and knocked on it a few times.

"Come in," someone called through the door.

Amy opened it up and stepped through, Lisa following closely behind.

"Ah, Amy, Lisa, it's good to see you two again," Herschel said as the two walked in. "Have you come to share another grand idea with me? The Grid Beam was  _ very _ useful, I must confess."

"Not this time, no," Amy said. "Lisa and I need a ride out to the lumberjack camp. Preferably today, since class is back in session, and I don't feel like developing a habit of skipping those."

"I see, I see," Herschel said, nodding. "Well, as it so happens... You  _ are _ familiar with the details of how I met your brother, correct?"

"We mostly know that you've met him, and transferred halfway across the continent to be near us specifically because you've met him," Lisa said. "Which, uh..."

" _ I _ know the details," Amy said with a smirk.

"Ah, good. Well, as it  _ just _ so happens, I've been working on that contraption of his some more, and now it's got a rudimentary autopilot. I'm working to refine it, but on a separate model; the changes I'm making make it worse before making it better. But, ah, the upshot is, so long as you don't need to travel to the Five Kingdoms, or perhaps Onkawa, then it should work just fine! The, ah, the piloting spirit is very as-the-crow-flies, and you do  _ not _ want that crow flying through the Golden Sea."

"Hang on, what the hell are you talking about?" Lisa asked.

"You'll see," Amy said with a grin.

* * *

"This is stupid as hell," Lisa said.

Herschel had spent the rest of his summer vacation in the port city of Puna Shankur, where he extensively studied the theory and mechanics of sailing, along with some of the fae tricks used by the local windshaman to better facilitate sailing.

As such, when Lisa and Amy climbed into the hot air balloon, it was now shaped altogether more like a small sailboat, except with the mast replaced by the attached air bladder, and a pair of masts and sails attached to the  _ side _ of the vessel, the attachment reinforced with steel wires and bracing.

"Oh, for sure," Amy said, nodding as the balloon carried them over the landscape. "But hey, it seems to be working just fine."

"Mm. Well, in the interest of being  _ smart _ about  _ something _ ..." Lisa reached into her bag of holding, and pulled a pair of holstered wands out, handing one to Amy. "We have no clue what to expect, so it's for the best we arm ourselves before we get there."

"It's a lumberjack strike, not a riot," Amy said, rolling her eyes and refusing to take the wand.

"Yeah, a  _ lumberjack strike _ ," Lisa said. "Y'know, a gaggle of angry men with axes who aren't gonna react well to a pair of city girls coming outta goddamn nowhere and telling them to get back to work. And that's assuming there's nothing else going on, which is probably a  _ wrong _ assumption."

"You're starting to sound like Teller," Amy said, folding her arms.

"Yeah, and how often is he wrong?" Lisa said. "We can joke all we want about his paranoia, about how he makes sure every table in the house is bulletproof and every couch has a gun hidden in its cushions, but the thing is, he keeps being right and those keep being useful. The world is dangerous for people who keep going out and interacting with it. Now put the goddamn wand on your belt."

Amy scowled, before sighing and taking the wand.

* * *

The Lost Creek Forest was fairly new, which was the only reason there weren't wood elves living in it, complaining about the humans chopping down their trees. About a hundred years ago, in the aftermath of the Enchanter Wars, it had been planted in the foothills of the Stalrange, with the open prairie just barely out of sight, and the peaks of the Stalrange barely peeking over the horizon in the opposite direction. The town of Lost Creek itself had a surprisingly active Rail station, ferrying lumber to Veilgrad and logging supplies back. About a hundred and fifty miles Northeast was Teller and Big Whiskey, but there was no direct Rail line there; to get from Lost Creek to Big Whiskey by Rail required a trip back Southeast to Veilgrad, then from Veilgrad West to Calderaas, and  _ then _ Calderaas North to Last Rock, then West through Parson's Peak(which was founded in a shallow river valley by a man who thought he was funny), Melloncamp, and finally,  _ finally _ , coming to a stop in Big Whiskey.

There was a good reason Amy and Lisa hadn't visited him any.

Parking the hot air balloon proved to be easy enough; the landscape was rolling enough to justify being called a landscape at all, but not so badly that the autopilot had any trouble at all parking in an open field. The real excitement came when one of the locals approached, clearly wanting an explanation.

"'Scuse me, young ladies, but y'all wouldn't happen to be  _ adventurers _ , would you?" an old-ish lady in a tightly-cut black longcoat asked, leaning on a cane.

"Eh... Kinda sorta, after a fashion?" Lisa hedged. "But not right now, no. Amy wanted to come and see why the lumberjacks are on strike."

"...On  _ strike? _ " the woman said, frowning. "Ain't  _ nobody's _ on  _ strike _ out here, girls. You'd best come with me, though. There's definitely  _ somethin'  _ goin' down here, and I reckon a few pairs of Salyrite hands oughta come in real handy."

"I'm Lisa, by the way," Lisa added.

"Sister Sigourney. I'm the Vidian in this town."

* * *

"How're you now, Bill?" Sigourney asked, as she walked up to the lumberjack leaning against a tree on the edge of the forest. Most of them seemed to be inside; this one, apparently, enjoyed the ambiance... or, alternatively, was waiting for someone.

"Good, and you?" the lumberjack said, straightening up at the priestess' approach.

"Ain't dead yet," Sigourney said with a wry grin. "These Salyrites here want to know why you've stopped working."

"Oh, good lord," Bill muttered. "Look, girls, the situation'll resolve itself soon enough. Just be patient."

"We've come all this way, might as well find out," Lisa said.

"Alright, alright, fine, but you won't thank me," Bill said. "Mike! Susan! Grab your stuff, we're going now!" Off to the side, there was an audible thump and some rustling inside the nearby lodge, and Bill walked off to grab a battlestaff from where it was leaning against the side of the building. "See you two've got wands. Draw 'em now, and keep your eyes peeled. Don't be the first ones to fire a shot."

A pair of lumberjacks with battlestaves stepped out of the Lodge, and with that, Bill set off into the woods, everyone else in tow.

"So, to properly understand what's goin' on out here, you need to catch up on politics right quick," Bill began. "Well, it started like all bad things do, with the goddamned motherfucking Huntsmen of Shaath."

"Those're the dipshits who brag about how alpha male they are and don't bathe, right?" Lisa asked.

"Eyup. But, they're a Cult of the Pantheon, so everyone's gotta put up with them, right?" Bill said. "Well, out here in Lost Creek, we are  _ very _ unimpressed with the holy might of the Gods, so we've never let them in our forest. Instead, we got ourselves a lodge operated by the Ranger's Guild, who make for  _ much _ better neighbors. Susan here's actually one of 'em."

"Yep," Susan said, nodding. "We Rangers were here even  _ before _ the town was founded, back in the tail end of the Enchanter Wars. The first Lodgemaster, Judy Bitterleaf, did some witchcraft to help the forest grow a  _ lot _ bigger and faster than it would otherwise, and attract the animals that'd usually live in a forest. Rabbits, deer, owls... everything except snakes and elves. When the settlers from Horsebutt's army came in, the Rangers welcomed 'em with open arms, and Lost Creek was born."

"Why's it called Lost Creek?" Amy asked.

"We've got a little river running into the forest from the Stalrange," Susan explained. "It runs into the forest, and doesn't run back out. So... the settlers said it got lost. Anyhow. Town's been here ninety years. And about  _ two _ years ago, there came some new marching orders from on high; the Ranger's Guild was no longer the official wardens of this forest  _ we planted _ , and we were to be replaced with the Huntsmen of Shaath. A situation that absolutely fucking  _ nobody _ was happy about, except  _ maybe _ the Huntsmen. So now us Rangers aren't allowed to hunt anymore, the lumberjacks have to put up with the Huntsmen- and some of the lumberjacks bein' women, they're puttin' up with a  _ lot _ . And the Huntsmen are now an official presence in a town that absolutely, categorically  _ does not want them _ , so I can't imagine  _ all _ of them are particularly  _ happy _ about that."

"Sounds like a fucking mess," Lisa said.

"Oh, it is, metaphorically  _ and _ literally," Mike added. "You're about to see  _ why _ we're all armed, 'cept for Mrs. Weaver here."

"Wait, I thought your name was Sigourney," Lisa said.

"Yeah, that's my  _ first  _ name," Sister Sigourney said. "I'm Sigourney Weaver. What, I say somethin'  _ funny? _ "

"We've heard that name before, just... attached to an actress, not yourself," Amy explained, clamping a firm hand over Lisa's mouth. "It's our problem, not yours. Anyhow, what were you saying about a literal m- Jesus  _ christ! _ "

They'd found the creek, at least. It was unusually filthy at the moment, being as it was contaminated with blood.

"This right here is the body of Brother Arven," Bill said. "Shot right through the brainpan with an arrow. The Huntsmen are  _ very _ angry about this, and pointin' fingers at the Rangers, who're the only other folks in town who use bows and arrows. The Rangers, naturally, plead innocence, and meanwhile everyone else in town is reckoning it was probably some other Huntsman; even among his Brothers, Arven was  _ not _ well-liked."

"How long's he been here?" Lisa asked.

"All day. We found him this morning, and the Huntsmen are  _ very  _ insistent that nobody move the body, or so much as touch it," Susan said.

"And that makes me  _ very suspicious _ when a gaggle of women and outsiders approach to examine it," a voice behind them said. Everyone turned to face the newcomer, and laid eyes on a man wearing leather, furs, a wild beard, and the wolf's head sigil of the Huntsmen of Shaath.

"...Shit," Lisa whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

"An Omnist Monk is a fairly reasonable candidate for helping someone build a new life," Sister Erin Avelea said. "However... Given that the Huntsmen of Shaath are noted for their skill in fae craft,  _ and _ their skill in, well,  _ hunting _ , I can't help but feel that you should've put her somewhere that can stand up to a half-dozen angry Huntsmen showing up and demanding her back."

"That's actually exactly what I did," Vicky said, grinning. "Father Teller Corcoran is, without a doubt, the  _ worst _ Omnist you'll ever meet, as far as pacifism goes. When the situation calls for it, he can make a bloody mess to impress even a Hand of Avei. Ephanie will be perfectly safe, out there in Big Whiskey."

The Avenist presence in Veilgrad was much like Veilgrad itself- not very large at all. Despite being the capital of Lower Stalwar Province, and a major hub of the Rails, Veilgrad remained a city built in the mountains, and not an especially rich one, either. There was only so much room to expand into, and the Stalrange had never been especially productive or populated land. In fact, Imperial census-takers had noted that there were  _ far _ more people living in the prairie regions of Lower Stalwar than their were people living in the entire Stalrange.

Ordinarily, Avenists liked to place themselves at such important sites, regardless of population density, but the Stalrange was the traditional home of the Huntsmen of Shaath, and Avenists had enough sense to not aggravate them more than strictly necessary, and necessarily kept their presence light.

A Huntsman might call this "a rare example of Avenists knowing their place." An Avenist might then spit in his eye and tell him his ass wasn't worth the trouble of kicking.

"Well, on the subject of making a bloody mess, you're being attached to Squad 461," Erin said.

"I'm still green, so... that would be, Squad One, of the Sixth Cohort, of the Fourth Legion, right?" Vicky asked.

"Yep, right on the money," Erin said, nodding. "You know that designations of one are typically special ones, right? Either special forces, or... the use-impaired. Well, Squad 461 are skilled rangers; trained up in the First Cohort of the Third Legion, which is known for making the  _ best _ rangers."

"Allow me to guess, I'm about to be getting  _ very  _ well-acquainted with a pair of hiking boots," Vicky said.

" _ Very _ well-acquainted," Erin said, nodding. "They're stationed in the central facility just below Veilgrad proper- they'll issue you a pair of good hiking boots,  _ and _ teach you how to lace them properly."

"I know I said just yesterday that the Silver Legions has regulations for taking a piss, but  _ tying my boots _ is one I wasn't expecting," Vicky said. "I'm sure, however, that I'll be thoroughly educated on the horrifying and inevitable consequences of going against those regulations, whether I want to be or not."

* * *

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Vicky said, closing her eyes and turning away from the very graphic images of injured feet. "Just teach me how to lace the damn boots!"

"You'd think someone with a scar like that wouldn't be so squeamish," Corporal Marx said with a grin, holding up the book.

"It's on my  _ face _ , and therefore I'm the only person who doesn't have to look at it."

"What about in the mirror?"

"Oh, I just roll out of bed looking this good," Vicky said with a grin. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why's your squad need a Sister of Avei in the first place?"

"Well, that's as good a segue into your briefing as any," the other Legionnaire, this one with a Lieutenant's insignia on her shoulder, began. "Some farmers have been reporting a spate of missing and injured livestock, along with freshly broken arrows in some places. Preliminary examination has also turned up circumstantial evidence, in some places, of what might be infernal corruption. Just bits of charcoal, really, could  _ very _ easily be leftovers of the poachers' camps, but charcoal is  _ also _ the material demons turn into when they die."

"Oh no," Vicky muttered.

"And nominally, that's where  _ you _ come in," the Lieutenant continued. "It is Legions standard doctrine that if there's even a  _ whiff _ of diabolism going around, there is to be a Sister of Avei or three brought in.  _ However _ . There are several circumstances you should be aware of. One. We are, all of us,  _ rangers _ , and some of us are  _ very _ competent witches. I don't know if you know your Circles of Interaction, but Fae magic beats Infernal magic to a frankly  _ excessive _ degree. Three full witches and nine dabblers in witchcraft are  _ more _ than a match for a Sister of Avei against a demon."

"I wasn't aware of that, actually. Thank you."

"Two, a Sister of Avei is  _ not _ a Silver Legionnaire. There's overlap- some Legionnaires move on to the priesthood, but, correct me if I'm wrong, you personally have not gone through basic training."

"I have not."

"And that leads us to here. With apologies and no personal insult meant, Sister, we don't need you, and in all likelihood your presence will simply slow us down.  _ But _ . Three, a Sister of Avei, not being a Silver Legionnaire, is not restricted in her personal equipment, so long as she is easily recognized  _ as _ a Sister and not a Legionnaire. So, Sister, here is what I, Valerie Avelea, am asking you to do, as a  _ personal favor _ to me, because I very well cannot order you to do this." Lieutenant Avelea reached into a hip pouch, and withdrew a coinpurse. "We're  _ friends _ now, and I've given you a  _ friendly gift _ to help populate your personal effects with souvenirs from Veilgrad. And to that end, you will go into the market this afternoon and purchase a small Bag of Holding that will fit on your belt, and then you will purchase the best battlestaff you can afford. You will put this battlestaff in your Bag of Holding, and keep the Bag on your person at all conceivable times. Do you understand where I'm going with this, Sister?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Corporal, help her figure out an optimal boot lacing, then drill her on it until she can do it blindfolded in thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds for one foot, or both?" Marx asked.

"Hrm... I'm feeling generous. Give her exactly a minute for  _ both _ feet."

Vicky decided, in the back of her head, that she was  _ very _ glad she'd gone for the priesthood instead of the Legions.

* * *

"Gooooood  _ morning _ , sunshi- oh, you're already awake," Lieutenant Avelea said, poking her head into Vicky's tiny room. Regulations stated that Sisters of Avei were to be issued private quarters, rather than being quartered in the barracks, but the regulations failed to specify exactly how  _ big _ their quarters needed to be, and space was  _ always _ at a premium. "Well,  _ that's _ no fun."

"I'm afraid I'm already a morning person," Vicky said gravely, sitting on her bed and braiding her hair. "Is everyone else awake already?"

"They were upright. I'll brief you while I wait, and after that, we're going to collect the rest of the squad. Our mission, put simply, is to  _ find _ these poachers and  _ deal _ with them, in whatever manner is appropriate. If I may indulge in speculation, frankly I suspect some idiot kid Huntsmen are behind this, and I intend to catch them red-handed."

"Ugh, Huntsmen this, Huntsmen that," Vicky muttered. "Why's every problem  _ always _ got Huntsmen involved? Why can't it be some  _ other _ Pantheon cult stirring the pot? There's nine others it could be. Maybe some Omnist warrior monks taking desperate measures to keep the soup kitchen stocked, or some Vernisites who're making a beef shortage  _ the hard way _ . Fuck, maybe it's elves who've spotted a weird disease and are doing us the favor of culling our herds for us... without bothering to ask first, because sometimes elves are dicks like that."

"Stow that, Sister," Avelea said, folding her arms.

"Anyhow, if you think it's novice Huntsmen, why not tell  _ them _ about it, make it  _ their _ problem?" Vicky asked.

"Really, you need me to explain why there's a standing policy against delegating problems to the Huntsmen, who'll take this as validation that we're weak, simpering girls who need men to handle all the  _ real _ work for us? And here I was thinking a Sister from Tiraas would at least understand politics."

"Alright, what about the Ranger's Guild?" Vicky asked.

"The what now?"

"I only heard about them just recently; apparently they get mistaken for Shaathist offshoots, called Shadow Hunters, and they don't bother correcting anyone. They're a hell of a lot less misogynistic than the Huntsmen are, supposedly." Vicky stood up, rolling her shoulders. "I know for a  _ fact _ there's a lodge out in Parson's Peak, but there's  _ probably _ one nearby, too."

"We'll consider it, if we find ourselves needing a lot more warm bodies with woodcraft skills," Avelea said. "But right now, we simply do not have  _ time _ to go chasing down some secret cult that nobody but you has ever heard of. Now come on, we've got drills to go through before we move out."

Vicky sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"I think I found something," Vicky called. "Wheel ruts from carriages. Looks to me like the  _ horseless _ variety."

"Horseless? How can _ you _ tell?" Lieutenant Avelea asked.

"I don't  _ see _ any grass trampling in between the wheel ruts, so there probably weren't horses," Vicky said. "Unless there  _ is _ trampled grass and I'm just blind."

Lieutenant Avelea and Corporal Marx stalked over to double-check.

"...No, it looks like you're right. Wheel ruts, and no horses."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but demons wouldn't be using horseless carriages, would they?" Vicky asked.

"Generally,  _ no _ ," Avelea said. "Again, not sure how well you know your Circles, but demons are  _ dripping _ with infernal magic, which does nasty things to the arcane magic that makes enchanted carriages run. And  _ then _ there's the fact that enchanted carriages are hard to make, and cost a lot of money. How would demons even get their hands on enchanted carriages in the first place? I suppose this also rules out the Huntsmen; they don't trust arcane magic, and wouldn't be using enchanted carriages either."

"There's demons who  _ don't _ leak infernal magic," Corporal Marx added. "Hethelax, Khelminash, Vanislaads, and Baerzurgs. And that's just the ones I know about."

"A Vanislaad  _ could _ be the answer to how demons got their hands on carriages in the first place," Avelea muttered. " _ But _ , that's just baseless speculation. More likely scenario is that someone around here is raiding their neighbor's cattle. Corporal, you've got the map. Mark this ranch as having been raided, and then find the ones in this area that  _ haven't _ ."

"Yes, ma'am," Corporal Marx said, pulling out a rolled-up map.

"What's the plan?" Vicky asked. "Trying to narrow down possible culprits?"

"Yes and no, Sister," Lieutenant Avelea said. "How many nearby ranches haven't been hit, Corporal?"

"Of the eight ranches in a ten mile radius, four of them have been raided, and four haven't," Corporal Marx said.

"No, I don't believe we'll be confronting anyone on suspicion of cattle raiding," Avelea said. "I do believe we'll be gathering a  _ bit _ more evidence before we confront anyone. In fact, I think that if tonight goes according to plan, we'll have all the evidence we need."

"Pretend I'm stupid and exhausted after being on my feet for-" Vicky checked her wristwatch. "-twelve hours. What the hell are we doing?"

"We're going to stage a little  _ stakeout _ , and see if we can catch these poachers red-handed."


	5. Chapter 5

"So, Ephanie, what do you want?" Teller asked.

"A baked potato," Ephanie said immediately.

"Smartass," Teller said, grinning lightly. "I meant more... What do you want out of life? In the decades you've got ahead of you. What's your  _ end goal? _ Starting from there and working backwards is a good way of doing things, I think. Or, at least, a good start."

"Well... I want to live a good life," Ephanie said. "I want it to be a  _ peaceful _ one, too, but... I do want to do good things in the world, and leave it better than I found it."

"Alright, makes sense," Teller said. "So, here's somewhat of a touchier question: what does a better world look like? What problems are present that you feel the need to correct?"

"I'm sure this is going to sound  _ very _ Avenist of me, but... The specific problem I want to try to fix is the Huntsmen of Shaath and their treatment of women," Ephanie said.

"That's something of a large problem, but certainly a  _ worthy _ one," Teller said, nodding. "Perhaps you'd like to talk to the Rangers about it? They might be able to help."

"Well, no, it's not..." Ephanie trailed off, biting her lower lip. Her hair was down, and after her bath this morning, it was nowhere near as curly as it had been the day she'd arrived. According to her, her hair wasn't naturally curly, it just acted that way because she'd been braiding her hair almost every day of her life. That she was no longer doing so was likely a deliberate choice.

"You tryin' to argue they're not tolerated because they provide a necessary service, but they're tolerated because they're a cult of the Pantheon?" Teller ventured.

"No, no, my problem with the Huntsmen isn't their monopoly on woodcraft, it's their monopoly on dominant men and submissive women," Ephanie explained quickly, blushing more than a little.

"...beg pardon?"

"Well, I mean... I married a Huntsman of Shaath for a  _ reason _ , you know? And that reason is... I  _ liked _ being treated like that."

"Ah, I see. I  _ do _ think that, perhaps, there's a potential solution in the Rangers, still; if we were to use the Rangers to 'purify' the Huntsmen, so to speak, and purge them of their rampant misogyny, then they would no longer hold a doctrine of dominant husbands and submissive wives, and they'd lose their monopoly on such."

"I was expecting somewhat more of a reaction," Ephanie said, her blush beginning to go down.

"Ma'am, I'm a  _ priest _ ," Teller said wearily. "Do you know just how many people tell me their deepest, most personal business? You're not the most sexually deviant person I've met  _ this week _ . Less than  _ four goddamn days ago _ , I was talking to a man who had trouble controlling himself around the sheep."

"...Ah," Ephanie said.

"So no, Ephanie, I'm not about to freak out and throw you out or anything," Teller said. "It's weird how many people assume I have harsh and strict views on sexuality."

"Well, I mean... Omnu's faith does have a  _ few _ well-known failings..."

"Honestly, I don't know  _ where _ people keep getting these ideas," Teller said. "Words written in some book aren't as important as the genuine, lived truth; in my time in Omnu's service, he has  _ never _ seen fit to complain to me about my habit of having a beer down at the Saloon every Saturday, or having sex with men. Unless he thinks it doesn't count if it's an elf."

"I- wait,  _ what? _ "

"Oh, I'm bisexual," Teller said. "My girlfriend and I have something of an open relationship, these days, after our last sit-down and extended talk about it."

"...She  _ did _ say to me that she was hoping to have a threesome with an elf..."

"Yeah, she said that to me too. She'll be hoping for a while, unless she manages to arrange one herself; me, I'm not interested."

"Is that because of how you feel about the idea  _ in general _ , or because you're upset with her in particular?" Ephanie asked.

"Excuse you, young lady, but  _ I _ am the priest and counselor here, not you."

"Well, I mean, you live in Big Whiskey, and  _ she's _ been off in Tiraas for  _ goddess _ knows how long but at  _ least _ a few months, and-"

"Ephanie."

She obediently shut up, her face heating up again.

"We will  _ not _ be discussing my love life," Teller said firmly. "That you live in my house and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future does  _ not _ make us close enough friends for me to discuss such personal matters with you. We are not holding this discussion about  _ your _ personal matters as equals and friends- it is  _ entirely _ predicated on the fact that I am a priest, and this is my job. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Ephanie averted her eyes.

"Good. Now, let's get back on track. What  _ short term _ goals do you think you'd like to pursue?"

"I  _ think _ ..." Ephanie bit her lip contemplatively. "Well,  _ you  _ seem to be doing good work here. Could you use an extra pair of hands? One skilled in the arts of war and...  _ adequate _ at traditional women's work?"

"That... depends. Does 'women's work' include sewing and tailoring clothes?"

"Yes, although I'm not very fast at it."

"Speed isn't an issue. Come on, let's introduce you to a new modern wonder called a  _ sewing machine _ ." Teller stood up, stretching his shoulders and back. "You mind if I delegate the teaching to Prin? I'm afraid I've got some  _ other _ business to attend to soon."

"That's fine, yes," Ephanie said, still visibly on edge. "What  _ sort _ of business?"

"Oh, just going down to the Saloon and talking to a friend," Teller said lightly. "If you'd like, we could postpone the lesson altogether, and I can introduce you to some of the townsfolk, help you make some new friends."

"No, no, I... Bars don't agree with me," Ephanie said, shaking her head.

"Fair enough. Well. See you when I get back."

* * *

"So, you've been doing your whole sneak-thief routine, yeah?" Teller asked. "Snooping around, eavesdropping, all that jazz?"

"What the hell is jazz?" Domino asked. "But, yes."

"Well, let me show you the  _ easy _ way, that you seem to have neglected." Teller pushed open the batwing doors of the town saloon, and ambled in easily, walking up to a particular table. "Donovan! You son of a bitch, it's been too long! You don't visit enough!"

Donovan Harkins was a fairly typical frontier farmer; clear Stalweiss heritage, built like a tank, and strong as an ox.

"Why, if it ain't Father Corcoran," Donovan said with a toothy grin as Teller approached. "You know where I live, son. If you wanna see me so bad, you can damn well take a little walk down the road!"

"Aw, c'mon, Donovan, you  _ know _ it ain't that simple for me," Teller said, seating himself at the table with Donovan and some of his friends. "I mean, hell- Bill, tell him about that damnfool adventurer came through here last Tuesday?"

"Oh, man- tore up his knee, and that shaman Rainwood had to get involved," Bill said. "Turns out he tore a ligament in his knee that Rainwood didn't even know people  _ had _ until he saw it torn!"

"Ooooh, lordy lord," Donovan muttered.

"And that ain't all," Teller continued. "Ah, scuse me doll, could I get a tall glass of apple juice? None of the hard stuff for me today."

"Comin' right up," the waitress said, nodding.

"Anyhow, I gotta nursemaid them damn elves livin' in my house, too, cause it turns out all the  _ sensible _ elves who know how to act like normal people all still live in the groves," Teller said. "And  _ now _ , my girlfriend blows into town for  _ just _ long enough to dump a runaway Shaathist wife on me, and now I gotta be on high alert for some asshole who's built like a bear and doesn't bathe to come through, and... Omnu's  _ balls _ , Donovan, don't you  _ ever _ let your kids grow up to be priests. It ain't worth it."

"Sure goddamn sounds like it," Donovan said, nodding.

"Anyhow, real sorry 'bout this, but I'm afraid I've gotta talk some business with you in private," Teller said. "I'll buy you a drink, but I  _ do _ gotta insist."

"Alright, alright, no need to twist my arm," Donovan said, standing up. "Where to?"

"Upstairs, I got a room I reserve every week," Teller said, standing up and slapping Donovan on the back. "C'mon."

* * *

"So, Donovan, I hear you got bought out," Teller said, as Domino shut the door, trapping Donovan in with the two of them.

Donovan winced.

"I hope  _ that's _ why your grain deliveries have been short," Teller added.

"I- I can't-" Donovan choked up, looking away.

"Cat got your tongue? Or... oh, no, that is  _ fairy _ magic on you," Teller muttered. "I'm not  _ much _ of a witch, but I'm enough of one to notice  _ that _ . Alright, let's change the subject- Hey, Donovan, would you like yourself a divine blessing?"

"I- wha?"

"Y'know, I hear divine magic isn't good for fairies and their magic," Domino said casually, pretending he wasn't an active participant.

"Oh! Oh, uh. Yes, go ahead," Donovan said, nodding. "Haven't been able to get to church lately, suppose I'm a bit behind on my blessings."

"Let's fix that, shall we?" Teller asked, grinning and reaching out to tap Donovan on the forehead. A pair of golden sunbursts flared, a large one behind Teller's head, and a smaller one on Donovan's forehead. Donovan himself began to glow lightly, looking like he was standing in broad midday sunlight, despite it being a dim hour of the evening outside. "So, Donovan... what can you talk about  _ now? _ "

"A lot," Donovan said, nodding. "Lord Greaves is a  _ terrifying _ man, Father. His pa was  _ Silas _ Greaves, the baddest,  _ meanest _ motherfucker outta the Badlands, bad enough to scare off even the likes of Longshot McGraw and Tommy Two-Knife. He was a  _ bounty _ hunter, too; got  _ real _ good at trackin' people down, and apparently he managed to pass on his witchcraft to his son."

"Damn," Teller muttered.

"Lord Greaves, he came up on the back of a horse made of orange fire, threw me a little bag of money, and congratulated me on selling my farm. When I tried to tell him otherwise, he pulled out a wand and hit me in the shoulder with a whip made of fire. Asked if I was  _ sure _ about that, and..." Donovan trailed off, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing the nasty-looking burn scar on his shoulder. It looked old; Teller recalled having healed the wound about a month and a half ago, and while he'd kept it from getting infected, or from impairing Donovan's use of his arm, the scar itself was likely to be there until Donovan returned to the ashes.

"Vesper Greaves is a witch, you said?" Teller asked.

"He is, he is," Donovan said. "I've tried learnin' a bit myself, here and there- my ma learned some from the elves when she was a girl, taught me and pa what she knew on account it was useful on a farm. I can... I can  _ tell _ when there's witchcraft afoot, even if I can't do much more than make plants grow a little better."

"Don't you worry, Donny boy," Domino said. "Like I just said, holy magic will fuck up a witch's day  _ real _ good."

"Doesn't matter how bad Vesper Greaves might be," Teller added grimly. "This ain't my first rodeo. I've killed badder before, and I'll kill badder again. I'm gonna make him regret the day he was born."


End file.
